Bringing on the Storm
by The Aurum Writers
Summary: For her, he would do anything. Even if he had to kill some innocent people. AU


**Hey guys! There was an "Our Voice" contest thingy that my ELA teacher suggested we take part in, and I was interested in doing that until she said that if we win, we'd get to read our poem or short story to a large audience (Quote unquote, "Won't that be fun?!")...no. Nu-uh, not gonna submit. Anyways, my friend and me decided to write something together (Some might know her as "Midna", or "Mama Lucia" **_**hint hint wink wink.**_**) Anyways, I wrote the story, and she helped me with spelling and finding a few stronger words, 'cause my words are just plain weak. This was loosely written, so it might not make any sense. Also, this fanfic has nothing to do with the storyline, except for the "boy who lived" part. Sorry for the long A.N. I'll just stop now.**

**-Nike **

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The figure walked alone, the leaves rustling, and wind howling in his wake. He gracefully leaped onto a small hill nearby and took out a vial from his dark velvet clad cloak. The vial had pure black obsidian colored liquid swirling inside of it. He looked at the vial, unmoved by its dark looking aura. He lifted his hands and took off the jet black gloves that he always wore to suppress his abnormal amount of magical power. With his now bare hands, he uncorked the bottle, and raised it as high as he possibly could, not a heartbeat later.

With the vile raised above, he lowered his head and began to mutter words in a language that had been long forgotten. Seemingly on its own, the contents of the glass floated out and began to swirl around the lone figure. He pursed his lips, feeling magical power building up inside of him.

He reached into his cloak and pulled out his wand. It was eleven inches long, and had a phoenix feather as its core. He raised it above his head and made sure that the tip was level with the mouth of the vial. In the same ancient language he had used before, he chanted continuously, allowing the magic that had built up inside of him to flow into his treasured and cherished wand - the one he had bought with Hagrid. After half of his magic entered the wand, he deemed it charged enough and stopped his endless line of words. Gently, he held the tip of his wand to the edge of the bottle's rim.

He held his head high, and looked up to the wand and glass that he had previously linked together. "Pertinent." He said the connection spell simply, in a commanding tone, his voice low and gruff.

In a blinding flash of shimmering white light, the power inside of the wand transferred into the the vial. In turn, the contents that had been transported into it floated out, also swirling around the figure. In one sudden movement, the light made contact with the dark, and they swirled together, bonding together as one. The black mixed with white, the white mixed with black, until the swirling essence around him turned a large mass of gray. The moment this happened, the figure quickly charged his wand again and called out to the wind, using the magic inside of his wand to lead it in. As the wind floated towards his gray creation, the figure stepped back, not wanting to become a part of the funnel that was going to be created.

The clear winds connected with the assemblage of gray and mixed in as well. The person looked at it, a somewhat mad glint in his eyes. "Tu." He said in the same commanding tone, releasing the funnel of wind and gray into the morning sky. He watched it leave with a sense of satisfaction in his heart. "This is for you, Katrina."

With that, he concluded his time on that little hill and left, leaving no sign of his existence behind. He believed that nature would do the rest.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

A few days later, an article in the paper caught his eye. It said that there had been a raging hurricane in New Orleans. It was a category five hurricane. _Hurricane Katrina. _He smiled inwardly. Yes, he was right. Nature had done the rest and brought his little storm from Africa, all the way to America.

_I hope you're happy, Katrina. I hope that this fulfilled your request. _Katrina, his long lost relative. Katrina, the one who truly believed that he could do anything. Katrina, who requested on her deathbed, that New Orleans, the city that she had an extremely rough history with, was destroyed. For her, Harry Potter, the boy who lived, had committed an extremely serious wizardry crime. For her, he had killed innocent lives. For her, he had spawned a raging storm that had swallowed the city.

He, Harry Potter had surely committed a crime that would scar him for the rest of his life. But it was worth it, because it was for her.

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**Sorry, sorry, I know, Harry was extremely OOC, the ending was very repetitive, and that the reason for the storm was shallow and vain. I just felt like explaining Hurricane Katrina. The first spell he said was in Latin and the second one was in Yoruba, incase you were wondering. Review, please. I want to know if people like this style of writing.**

**-Nike **

**Cookie! (::)**


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